The Games
by MarySuOfYay
Summary: The 558th Cybertronian Games has come around, and a certain yellow mech has a front stage view. Hunger Games inspired. Bumblebee's POV. It's as terrible as it sounds. Read if you want to. Cathartic writing for fun. Rated T because eventual robot death.
1. Chapter 1

Author notes: …Hi. Yes. Long time no write. I know. Life is being a butt.

Life being a butt is mostly why this is being written. Something I can dabble in where I don't have to stress out, can have fun, and something that _almost no one will actually read_. It's a Hunger Games spinoff. I know it's going to be terrible. xD

SO YES. This. Inspired by Hunger Games. With robots. WHEE.

**The Games**

Chapter One: Education

We learned about it in history class.

I'm going to assume come incredulity from anyone that isn't Cybertronian, so let me clear up a couple of misconceptions right now. Yes, we _do_ have to learn things; straight information download _is_ possible and sometimes useful in a hurry, but it tends to have side effects not worth the effort. Having those three hundred thousand files worth of information instantly for your big test is great, but if your processor aches so much that you can't move, what's the point?

No, we learn and gain information just like any other race. We even have _childhoods_, despite what urban myth will tell you. Granted, we don't physically mature like most organic races - in fact, it's probably where the idea of instant adults came from in the first place - but we _do_ have youth and we do have to mature out of that stage.

I was still in Primary, still on factory grounds, when we learned about it in a run-of-the-mill history class. I was about a vorn old. Our teacher had led the lesson smiling and with such a cheerful disposition, how could we _not_ learn to enjoy it?

We watched our first Games in the common room the following orn. The memory file will probably never degrade; there were thirty of us, lounging on couches and joking around like the idiot children we were. They were my cast-mates alongside the group cold cast the joor after we were. It was not too far out of the norm for two different sets of casts to room together; back then, there were more of us being forged than there are now. There just wasn't room on the factory grounds for so many sparklets; we shared rooms, even, bunking together.

At any rate, I digress. We laughed, snacked on whatever the patrons allowed the newforged to have, and watched our first Reading of the Names.

I guess it helped that none of us could be Read. We were too young; not until we hit six vorns or moved off on our own, whatever happened first.

So, we watched with smiles on our faces and joy in the air. We, like most of Cybertron not called and kept safe, bet on possible winners. Not that we had anything to bet with at the time, but, again, we were too young to really understand.

I'm digressing again.

It started as an overpopulation problem. The Games, I mean. That's what history class told us. That there were so many of us that we threatened to spill over on to other planets, that the other races in the Galactic Order had become wary and frightened. The Shanix was at an all time, historic low; people were starving. Empties roamed the streets in packs in poorer cities.

There hadn't even been a tournament or the idea of a fight at the start. The Council had decided on a lottery from the get-go, though; some brilliant mathematician, or maybe just a number picked out of a hat, came to the conclusion that two people per city-state per vorn were enough. Two randomly chosen mechs. Two poor saps sent on one hell of a two week vacation, all expense paid and no expense spared, before being painlessly and quietly euthanized.

Somehow, it actually worked. By the second vorn, restrictions the ORder had placed on Cybertron had been lifted; by the third, the Shanix had doubled in value. By the fifth, the economy had improved so drastically that there were nearly no Empties left at all.

The first problem came up eight vorns in; people began to protest.

Any intelligent person that _isn't_ a Cybertronian would happily tell you how warlike of a people we are. How much destruction we caused whenever we landed anywhere; they're only half right. We are, generally, stubborn; we don't like to go down without our voices heard and our point made.

Being euthanized, according to many protestors of the time, seemed like the weakest way to die. No honor in it, some had said. It may have been a sacrifice to help Cybertron as a whole, but there was no chance or _hope_ for those called.

The infamous press conference that followed was played for us in class.

"What do you expect us to do?!" Zeta Prime, who I thought looked thoroughly exasperated, had practically glared at the cameras. "This _has_ to be done! There's just… No other way around this. Look, I know people are upset by the lottery… Hell, _i'm_ in it and I'd die, too, if I was called, but this is _working_. What else are we supposed to do, have a giant battle royal instead of a vacation?!"

They had put it to a vote. Yes, as incredulous as it sounds, there had been a vote. The entire Cybertronian race had voted on the issue. Keep things as they were, or have a tournament where the last winner gets to go home. A whole lot of people still die, but there was at least some tiny glimmer of hope to be Read and come out alive.

The fight scenario won. It won by an overwhelming margin, even, according to our smiling teacher. It was what the people wanted.

We were even allowed to watch one of the first Games in class.

We were taught to fall in love with it. The fights, the action, the _drama_; most of Cybertron did, I suppose. The Games even bring in tourism; a hefty bit of our economy runs on it.

I still remember… One of my cast mates… It's been so long, I can't remember what name he settled on… He was obsessed with the Games. One of the first things he bought with his very first bit of spending money was a fifty-vorn pack of highlights and winner interviews. He took over the common room's viewscreen every day to watch it.

He was dead two vorn later.

No, he didn't die in the Games. He never even got Read. No, we were so in love with the Games themselves that he died imitating a move one of the winners had used.

By the way, my name is Bumblebee.

This is the story of the 558th Cybertronian Games.

This is the story of the year I was Read.

Author notes: WHEE. I have no idea when I'll update this. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Author notes: Yeah, I'm still writing this. It's going slow. I write between other stuff, but it's… Relaxing. Yup.

This is still probably a terrible fic, but it's okay. XD

**The Games**

Chapter Two: Of Bars and Drunken Escapades

The advertisements began to show up two months before the Reading. That much had actually been normal; as far as I can remember, people tried to amp up the upcoming Games as early as possible. The longer it was out there, the more merchandise they could sell. Or so I figure.

Personally, I had only ever purchased one overpriced Games shawl. It was this gaudy, multicolored wrap emblazoned with the logo of Tagen Heights. I still have it somewhere, I think.

Yes, I live in 'The Heights'. It's not nearly as bad here as people say it is. Yes, we're a city of factories but, despite what people claim, the stars are not, in fact, blocked out by the smog. We can see them just fine on a good night. We even have parks. There are places much worse than the Heights; you won't get shot in broad daylight here.

All right, I'll grant that we aren't the most glamorous of places, but it really isn't dangerous here. Seriously. We even get tourists during Games season. Sure, not as many or as wealthy as, say, Polyhex, but we still _get_ them.

Speaking of which, the tourists began to flock in a few weeks earlier than usual. The sketchy Games shops had barely been set up; they sold out of what they had pretty quick, though. A good sign for the local economy, I guess. Most of them were organics, this year. Some technorganics and cyborgs; outsiders that wanted the experience of a _real_ Cybertronian Games but couldn't afford to stay someplace nice. Couldn't blame them, really.

Advertisements for the best viewing screens to watch from were set up a long time ago. I think some of them never even go down. I ignore them all for the most part; every year, I end up going to the same place anyway.

Technically, we could watch the Reading from anywhere. Everyone had a tracker anyway; the Enforcers were ready to pick up the lucky 'winners' before the last names were even called. It didn't matter where you go; there was no where to run.

Which is probably why the bars are so popular.

I was at my chosen roost an hour early. Even then, the bar was absolutely packed. The stench of enerbeer and high grade was in the air, but not nearly as thick as usual. It never was, not until after the broadcast ended.

On Reading night, everything was just a little bit off; everyone drank, but no one was drunk. Not yet, anyway; not until everyone knew that they were safe for another vorn.

Well, almost everyone.

I spotted the hunched down yellow frame as soon as I walked in. It was the image of depression; shoulders slumped, at least three empty cubes around him that I could see, and a forehead flat against the countertop.

I sighed to myself and headed to the bar. Despite how crowded it was, stools on both sides were empty; guess everyone was still giving him some space.

"Hubcap?" I slowly set a hand on his back; he didn't even twitch. I wondered, briefly, if he was even awake at all. "Slag, how much did you _drink_…?

"Six cubes." Came from behind the counter; the soft squeaks of a rag cleaning a glass came with it.

"Six?" I gaped at the bartender. "Swerve, I thought three was the cutoff!"

"No cutoff tonight." A small smirk. "And, just… Come on, look at him. I couldn't turn him down. Not after what happened."

A soft moan came from the hunched over body; it bordered on a sob.

Oh, Hubcap. Once, he had been known as a smooth talking schemer, part of a duo that could charm anyone in to giving them a loan. He had been inseparable from his best friend; Jackpot had been by his side for as long as I could remember. if it hadn't been for the numerous times both had flirted with other bots, I would have thought that they were bonded.

Jackpot and Hubcap. Jackpot came up with the crazy ideas and Hubcap put them in to motion; they had held varying levels of success. Despite how horrible it sounds, people had well and truly _liked_ them. Probably because nothing that they ever did was truly malicious and they held respectable limits. Yes, what they did tended to be stupid and highly illegal, but never cruel. Somehow, they never even outright stole; they could smile the shanix off of a priest, or so some said.

Jackpot died a month ago. Witnesses say that they saw him flapping his arms in the air, full in root mode, screaming to the air that he could fly.

He didn't have a flight mode. Illegal substances were suspected, but no one brought up this theory around Hubcap.

It had only been a month; Hubcap was still mourning. Usually while drunk. Thankfully, there were enough people that pitied him that the bar tab never grew too high.

"Hey. Hubcap." I tried to get his attention by rubbing his back; so far, very few people have been able to get his attention when he got like this. For some reason, I was one of them. "Hey, the Reading's gonna start soon. I know you want to watch."

A vorn ago, Hubcap had been merrily going around the bar, taking bets as names and pictures came on screen. Now, he was a wreck.

I made a mental note to find a good therapist.

Hubcap tilted his head just enough over his arms that I could see optics that were nearly glazed over. He was so far drunk, I wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't know where he was. "Oh… Hey, 'Bee…" He managed to slur all of three words.

"Hey." I plastered on as reassuring a grin as I could muster. "It's going to start soon, okay?"

Hubcap let out a hiccup that was half a sob. Then, he grabbed my arm with a grip a newborn turbofox could have slipped free from.

Well, it was something.

I sat there with him, making minor small talk - sometimes, I had to say the same words over and over before he understood it - as we waited for the night to begin. I might have been a good enough distraction; he didn't order another cube for the entire hour.

The volume on the screens came up a few minutes early. The bar fell in to a hush. The Games logo spun on the screen for a moment; then, a very nervous looking reporter at a desk came up.

The journalist heading the Reading was always nervous. At least, ever since a couple hundred vorns back, when a reporter had read _their own name_ off of the list. To his credit, that doomed journalist had actually finished the entire broadcast, but that had simply been a very odd round of Games.

"Welcome to the 558th Reading of the Names, as well as the 558th Cybertronian Games!" I think he intended that to sound dramatic or intense, but the number repetition only sounded odd to me. Forced. The fact that he had a face mask didn't help. "I'm Rook, and coming up are this years' contestants. Pay attention, because it might just be you!"

It was a script but, wow, did that last bit sound ominous. I couldn't help the shiver.

"First up, Altihex! Our very first representative for this year…!" A picture flickered in the left hand side of the screen; someone's photo ID. "Throttle!" An address scrolled on the bottom of the screen; the poor bots' current location. "Next up…!" It would go on like this for a while.

We had some time to wait; it went in alphabetical order on cities and we were pretty far down. It would be, as it always was, a very strange hour and a half broadcast.

The bar was quiet. A few whispers and mumbles went around, as well as the faint sounds of drinks occasionally being lifted and set back down, but the din was no where near a normal night. A normal non-Reading night, at any rate; it was like this every year.

So, I was surprised to hear a faint squeaking. I turned to look in Swerve's direction; I felt myself do a double take.

Swerve was… Smiling. Which, by itself, wasn't so strange - Swerve tended to be a bit of a jokester and general pain in the aft. But tonight was different. Tonight was not a normal night; to smile _now_ seemed out of place.

"Not nervous?" I was. Everyone was.

"Nah." The grin stayed put on Swerve's face. "A buddy of mine did the math. Say your name is in there ten times, and every one else is in there only once… Which never happens anyway. Your odds are something like only one in thirteen million or something!"

"Twelve million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety one." Came, half slurred, from the body slumped against my side.

There was a pause as both Swerve and I stared at Hubcap. Once the surprise passed, laughter began to bubble up in my throat; even drunk to the point of near unconsciousness, Hubcap was still paying attention.

Swerve gave Hubcap a narrow, suspicious stare. I didn't even try to check if the math was right.

"So… How many times is your name in there?"

"Thirty seven." The grin on Swerve's face faltered for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. "But it's cool, it's totally cool. This vorn's gonna be great! I have all these great Games nights planned. We're gonna make a killing in here, 'Bee."

I didn't remark on his choice of words, but I have to admit that I thought it funny at the time. "Sounds great." I nudged the frame against me. "Hear that, Hubcap? Lots of fun things are in the works."

Hubcap let out what sounded very much like 'mrfglrfle'.

It was then that I noticed the silence. Granted, the bar goers were normally quiet on Reading night, but the murmured bets and remarks on the players called so far were gone. So was the voice of the reporter that should have been calling names.

It was eerie. It was the only reason I looked up at the viewscreen above the bar. The mech on screen had a shocked expression, gaze focused on what I could only guess was the teleprompter. Had he read his own name? No, couldn't be; the logo for the city of Kaon was in the corner. The broadcast came from Protihex.

Then, the picture came on screen. Gasps filled the bar; mine joined them.

"Senator Megatronus." The reporter on screen nearly whispered it.

"Woah." I boggled; it wasn't every Games that someone _important_ came up. Especially not outside the Towers, where _everyone_ was pretty much rich and had no poor in the pot to pick from; the odds just weren't _there_.

"Damn." Swerve let out a low whistle. "That's actually kind of a bummer. Now we all know who's gonna win."

Bets in Megatronus's favor were already going around the bar. The guy was not only a senator, but a former Pit Gladiator to boot; someone like him in the Games seemed almost impossible to take down. I found myself excited.

A few cities and properties were still ahead of us. Now, with the Senator in the running, all of the new players called seemed like they didn't stand a chance.

After a while, it was our turn. The Tagen Heights logo spun on screen for a moment; as it shot to the far corner, the entire bar fell in to a hush.

Everything was quiet. It was a mix of anticipation, fear and dread; I could feel it in the air. A hundred or more mechs' energy signatures dancing on the edge. I heard somewhere once that you could tell how many times a bot had their name in the pot by how much heat he let off on Reading night.

A picture came on screen.

"Hubscrap."

"What?! _What_?!" Hubcap shot up in sudden alarm. Heads turned at the shout.

"Not you, mech." Swerve rubbed his face with a hand, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Swerve's right." I patted Hubcap's back. "See? Look, it's not even your picture." It certainly wasn't; the bot on screen looked nothing like him.

"…What?" What alertness the sudden panic gave began to fade away. Hubcap slumped again, overbought optics flickering. "But… It.…" He let out a deep exhale. "…What kind of name is Hub_scrap_?"

"Bumblebee."

I had still been looking at Hubcap. My hand was still on his shoulder. I had to half turn at the call of my name.

I stared right at the picture on my photo ID. It hung on screen.

"…Oh, slag." That came from Swerve, hushed from shock.

The address of the bar came on screen. That's when the gasps and questions began to start from deeper in the bar; people began to turn. I could hear them, dozens of optics looking in my direction.

My name had been called. _My name had been called._

A buzz shook me out of the shock; my comm unit had gone off.

In fact, I was suddenly barraged with dozens of calls; multiple people were trying to call my private line. I wouldn't have been surprised if half the city was trying to contact me now.

Still reeling, I went through the list of who was calling; one number popped out amongst the rest and I picked up the call.

_"'Bee, run! Get out of there!"_ Cliffjumper sounded every bit of panic.

"Run -" It quite suddenly hit me what was going on. "Oh slag. Holy slag." I shook my head to try and clear it; it didn't help much, but at least I was able to think again. "Cliff, I can't _run_, there's no where to go! Listen, this…"

My mind was going in circles. I had to think.

"Cliffjumper, listen to me, I have maybe ten minutes before the Reading ends and then the Enforcers are going to be here."

_"That's why I said to run!"_

"We have trackers, Cliffjumper!" Frustration made my voice harsh. "Listen, there's money in the safe in the closet, the combination is in my favorite datapad in a file called 'L-PREP'. There's enough in there to last you two months."

_"Wh…"_ Cliffjumper sputtered. _"…Did you __**plan**__ for this!?"_

"I thought about it a few times, okay?! _Someone_ had to! Listen to me, two months should give you enough time to find a new roommate or something, it -" I paused for a moment, listening to the bar around me. I half turned on my stool. "_I can __**hear**__ you betting against me!_ Can't you wait until they… Pick me up…"

Slag. Right. I was going to be gone in a few minutes.

"Cliffjumper, make sure the bills are paid, just… Don't make a fuss. Know what, don't even watch when I'm in there, okay?"

_"Are you nuts?!"_ I heard something clatter from Cliffjumpers' end; I could only assume he was making a mess of things at the apartment. _"I'm coming, 'Bee, I think I can get there in time!"_

There was a very sudden click; Cliffjumper had hung up. He was probably running out of our building and driving here as fast as he could.

Other calls were ringing. I couldn't bring myself to look at any one of them.

There came a harsh scraping noise; I looked up to see Swerve nudging a full cube in front of me. It had a strong stench; it might have been one of the imported brews. "Wh - Swerve, I don't have the money for this!"

"Mech. On the house." Swerve was staring at me with the widest optics I could ever remember him having. "On the house." He still sounded hushed.

I stared at the cube. The finality of what was going on was sinking in. I would be gone in a few minutes, whisked off by Enforcers, and then sent off to… Death.

I took the cube and swung half of it down in one go. I came up coughing and sputtering, but it hit my tanks with a pleasant warmth that helped to settle me down. Whatever it was worked fast; I felt a little calmer almost immediately.

"Thanks…" I coughed and shook my head. "Thanks, Swerve."

"Thank you, everyone." The journalists' voice beamed from the viewscreen; where he started the Reading with a nervous air, now his voice carried a beaming joy. "And welcome to the 558th Cybertronian Games!"

I drank the rest of the cube as quickly as possible. I had a minute, maybe two, before they came. It was then that I noticed that a hard grip on my arm had never let go.

Hubcap was staring at me with an expression of pure horror. He looked ready to cry, mouth agape and optics flickering at the corners the way someone did before a meltdown. He didn't say anything.

Slag. I probably should have told Cliffjumper to take care of him.

There was a window against the far wall. A broad, expansive piece of glass intended for the few booths in the bar to look outside. Gasps and calls came from the tables around it; I couldn't see it well from here, but the spinning lights of an Enforcer brigade were recognizable anywhere.

"I think I have to go now." I felt strangely detached when I said it. It might have been the shock, it might have been Swerve's gift; I don't know which and didn't care to figure out. I stood from my stool and began to head to the door; I was more than aware of all the optics aimed right at me, could hear the low whispers, but I also recognized the silence.

No one said anything above a whisper. Everyone - every_thing_ - was hushed. It reminded me of a funeral procession. Maybe it was.

I barely remember the walk outside. I do, however, actually remember stepping past the threshold between the bar and the sidewalk, looking at the large transport vehicle and the six Enforcers - locals; one was even my frametype - ready to take me away. A tall, doorwinged mech looked at me with pity.

Of course they wouldn't be vicious; it could've been any one of them.

"Bumblebee…!" A thin, high pitched whine; I looked back to see a wobbling, unsteady Hubcap push ahead of the crowd that must have swarmed the door during my short journey. "Bumblebee, you can't go!" He slurred terribly and did not sound coherent.

"Slag." I sighed. Then, I looked to the doorwinged Enforcer. "Can I have a cycle..?"

"Sure." A nod. "We can spare it."

I turned back and headed to Hubcap. I looked at him hard for a moment; his optics flickered too much, now, and his head lolled to the side in a way that I simply knew meant he was too far from where I needed him to be. "I don't think I have a choice, here." He stared at me with an odd blankness within the sorrow; I don't think he even heard me.

With a deep breath, I looked up over him and managed to find Swerve in the crowd. "Watch him, okay?"

Swerve only nodded, optic band still wide.

I took a deep breath and turned away. I took all of four steps.

"You can't take him…!" Somehow, Hubcap was slurring even worse. "You can't, 'cause I _volunteer_!"

I turned so fast that I nearly fell down. Gasps and a few cries of dismay filled the crowd. Swerve managed to lunge forward to grab Hubcap's shoulder.

"Don't listen to him!" I rushed to Hubcap, turning to glance at the waiting escorts. "He's drunk, he doesn't know where he is!" I then turned to look at Hubcap; I began to shake. "What the slag are you _doing_?! Why did you do that?!"

Hubcap stared at me blankly; the sadness was suddenly gone. "…'Bee?" A pause that was far too long. "Did I just volunteer?"

"Hot frag." Was what sounded like Swerve said from… Somewhere. I didn't look up to check.

I heard the footsteps behind me. I turned to look at that doorwinged mech. "He's drunk! I'll go, he's too drunk to volunteer for this!"

"I'm sorry." The Enforcer frowned. "Rules are rules."

"I…" Hubcap turned to look from the Enforcer back to me; his movements were entirely too slow. "I think… Okay."

"What?! What 'okay'?!" I sputtered. "Hubcap!"

Hubcap didn't say a word. Despite still wobbling and entirely too unsteady, he managed to walk of his own accord to the Enforcers' waiting car.

The last I saw of him in person, he collapsed face first in to the back seat. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

I never said that this story was about me.

Author notes: *throws confetti and runs!*


End file.
